


Though It Were 10,000 Mile

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: What happened on New Earth - and after?





	1. Though It Were 10,000 Mile

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter was my very first fanfiction. The J/C relationship seemed so firmly imbedded in the subtext that I wanted to show how it existed beyond the episodes presented, beginning with "Resolutions." Over time, it became obvious the relationship had been sidelined and by "Endgame" that we would never see it. Nonetheless, I kept looking for ways to revive it. Inspired by the poetry of Robert Burns.

Captain’s Personal Log: It is our first night back on _Voyager_ ; what we thought was a life-long exile turned out to be a seven-week quarantine. The Doctor has certified my health and Chakotay’s, and everyone is doing their very best to act as if we never left.

Especially Chakotay and me.

I didn’t keep personal logs on New Earth. Well, in the first few days, I tried but they weren’t particularly meaningful – all about bug traps and soil samples, and then I stopped altogether. I want to put it down now, while it's still fresh and I have the will to make a record. I have a feeling that in a few days it will be easier to pretend that it never happened.

Denial is something I do very well, almost as well as guilt. At first, I simply didn’t believe that we would be there forever. I was truly convinced that I would find a cure that would free us from the planet. Chakotay settled in right away, but he never pressed me to do the same. Apart from a gentle hint about "not trading the present for a future that might never happen" he let me go my own way. That was the first thing I learned about him on New Earth – he is a man of infinite patience.

So, my days were busy with tests and traps and calculations and forced good cheer, and the occasional visit from the little simian who shared our forest. Nights were another story. At night, all the doubts and uncertainties crowded in my head and demanded to be heard. Even at my age, there are monsters under the bed. My particular monster is named guilt.

The first night that I couldn’t sleep, I wrapped up in a blanket and slipped quietly, I thought, outside. Looking up at the unfamiliar starscape, I felt a huge pang of homesickness. Where was _Voyager_? Did they still see the same stars?

For all my efforts to be quiet, he heard me and came out also. "I can’t sleep either," he said.

My eyes were still gazing upwards. "Look at it," I said. "It’s so different."

He stood beside me, looking up but not touching me. After a moment he spoke quietly. "Not so very different. There are constellations. See? There, on the horizon. That’s a rose."

It took a moment to find where he was pointing, but then I saw it. "It does look like a rose." I was amazed, and delighted. "And there – look, it’s like the Big Dipper, only backwards." We spent the rest of the night sitting side by side on the ground, finding constellations. By dawn we had identified the Mouse, the Stallion, the Mountains, and half a dozen more.

The next night, we met again after moonrise and sat side by side on the ground. We made up background for each new constellation, and I began to realize that he was a natural storyteller. It wasn’t so much the actual words that impressed me as the sound of his voice, and how often we laughed that night. The one constellation we didn’t create a story for, though, was the Rose. Somehow, we never got to it.

The night after that, we sat outside after dark by unspoken agreement and we began to talk about ourselves. Not about _Voyager_ , or even the Maquis, but inconsequential things at first – things like being the oldest child, and parent’s expectations, and little recollections from childhood. Each confidence led to another one, and another.

People speak too casually of baring their souls, as if it is done simply, or without risk. We are private people, Chakotay and I, inclined to keep our innermost selves hidden. But in those warm, dark nights, we told each other things we had not shared with anyone else in a very long time, if we ever shared them at all. Shyly at first, the trust between us built night by night, a bit at a time.

I began to feel as if I were two people, the nighttime Kathryn and the daytime Kathryn. In the daytime, I could deny the reality of our situation, including the physical attraction that was growing daily between us. An admission that we were stranded was disloyal to _Voyager_ , and an admission that I was attracted to Chakotay was disloyal to Mark.

In the night, though, none of that mattered. At night, there was nothing but the two of us, sitting on the ground, looking at the stars and talking.

Chakotay made no overt effort to change my daytime self, but he waged a subtle campaign. Every day he tried something to get me to focus on the present, and our needs for survival. He brought me grasses for analysis, to see if they could be cultivated to grain, and fruits and nuts and berries. He built me a bathtub. A bathtub. It’s in the cargo bay now, but I have no idea what to do with it. It’s too big for my quarters; I’ll probably have to recycle it for crew rations.

In the middle of our third week there, the first big plasma storm hit and destroyed my equipment. Despite the devastation, I still was not ready to admit that we were indeed marooned there. It was too great a loss to contemplate. A numbness enveloped me, a protective reaction, I suppose.

But it couldn’t last. The next night, after we cleaned up the worst of the storm damage, my neck and shoulders were stiff and he offered a backrub. I can still feel his hands on my skin, still remember how stealthily the sensation changed from therapeutic to sensual, how wonderfully close I came to giving into it. But, being me, when faced with the undeniable I tried to control it. That was when he told me the ‘angry warrior’ legend. I don’t think anything has moved me so much, before or since, and it was the mortal blow to my defenses.

Later that night, wide awake and troubled by something I couldn’t define, I slipped outside. This was one time that I didn’t want to wake him; I felt the need to be alone. I looked up into the sky and realized with a jolt that it was no longer strange. I knew the constellations, knew them well enough to judge the time by their position.

That was when I finally believed it. New Earth was my home. We were never going to leave. It was time to let go.

I don’t cry. I can count on one hand the number of times in my adult life that I have actually let go and wept. This was one of them, and I did not do it gracefully. The sobs tore the breath from my lungs and burned my throat. He heard me, of course, and came outside. Without saying a word, he held me closely while I cried out my grief. I wept for _Voyager_ and Tuvok, for Mark and my dog, Mother and Phoebe, for everything and everyone I had ever lost. He held me until my tears were spent.

When I finally calmed, he took a step back and looked at me. Whatever he saw satisfied him, because he bent down, wiped my face with his fingers and said softly, "I’ll see you in the morning." Then he left me to finish my good-byes in private.

The next morning was different. I was different. The residual sadness was there, but at the same time, I was free. For the first time in memory, I had no obligations to anyone but myself. I felt almost weightless, in need of an anchor to keep me grounded. Without clearly articulating the thought, I realized that for the first time in my life, all I had to do was… to be. No career to build, no tests to study for, no goal or objective other than living as best we could manage. It was liberating but a little frightening. I wasn’t sure who I was without Starfleet to define me.

During those next days, as I got to know myself, I also began to notice Chakotay more. Even so, neither of us wanted to rush into anything. We knew that proximity and lack of alternatives would bring us together eventually, but we wanted something more. We wanted to build a relationship.

So we lived and worked together, and continued to learn about each other. Each day became a day of discovery, not just about the planet, but about ourselves. We learned the little things about each other, the things that come only with time and attention. Like the expression he gets when he is amused but trying not to show it. It’s a very tiny change in his eyes and the faintest hint of a smile…he somehow learned to tell the difference between when I really have a headache and when I’m just annoyed by the failure of the universe in general to cooperate with my plans. We learned the little things…food preferences, daily routines, all the minutiae that comprised our life there.

We began to watch each other when the other wasn’t looking. I would find excuses to seek him out during the day, and then stand at a distance before he noticed me and just look at him. Sometimes just stand there a while and then leave without ever talking to him. He was beautiful to watch, and images of him began to populate my dreams at night. I was falling in love, I realized, in a leisurely slide that was as scary as it was pleasant, and I savored every moment of it.

Another night came when I couldn’t sleep, although this time the monster under the bed wasn’t guilt. After tossing and turning for a while, I went outside to look at the sky. Even though the sky cloudy, the Rose was visible, and I stared at it for a long time.

He came out so quietly I didn’t know he was there until I felt his arms slip around me from behind. He held me close, and I leaned against him. It was a first for us, but it felt natural, and very good. "We haven’t got a story for the Rose," I said.

"I found something. It’s not a story, though." And then he said,

"My love is like a red, red rose/that’s newly sprung in June  
My love is like a melodie that’s sweetly played in tune.  
As fair art thou, my bonny lass/so deep in love am I,  
That I will love thee still, my dear/til the seas have all gang dry;  
Til all the seas gang dry, my dear/and rocks melt in the sun  
I will love thee still, dear/while the sands of life shall run."

I turned in his arms so I could see his face. The undisguised tenderness in his eyes was perhaps the most wonderful gift I was ever given. There was nothing else to do but to kiss him. His arms tightened around me and mine around him, and we stood in the moonlight and kissed. Kissed as if it was the first time ever. It felt like that, it felt new and bubbly as if we were the first two people to ever try it. When we finally broke apart, I hugged him tightly. I was so filled with happiness that I thought I might burst.

We probably would have tried it again except that the little simian came running up, chattering at us anxiously. When we didn’t break apart, it ran up my leg and began pulling my hair. The only times it had ever behaved like this was when a storm was imminent, so we paid attention. Within moments it was raining, and we were soaked before we made it inside. It turned out to be a simple rainstorm, though, not a major plasma storm, and by the time we realized it, the mood had been broken. I went alone to my bed that night, but in the certainty that I would not sleep alone the next night.

The next morning he asked me to come inside and give my opinion on his design for a boat. We were joking a bit, but I suggested we could take a camping trip up the river. He made a joke about taking the bathtub along, and I said I would have the river, and it was all quite light. And underneath the banter, we both knew that after last night, things would be different.

And then, practically in mid-sentence, Tuvok called. He was coming for us, they had a cure. They would be there in 30 hours.

My first reaction was shock, and I numbly agreed that we would be ready for the ship when it arrived. My second reaction was annoyance. How dare he interrupt my plans? Indignant, I looked up at Chakotay, and froze. He was already looking at me with a sad little smile.

"Damn," was all he said, and then he walked out of the shelter and into the woods.

It took me only a moment to realize what he was thinking. We were returning to Voyager; we were the captain and the first officer again. A romantic relationship between us on the ship wasn’t strictly against regulations but it was a very bad idea. He had commanded his own ship and knew the truth of that as well as I. The strain of balancing the professional obligations and the personal feelings almost always destroys the relationship and in our case, that would mean destroying the command team with no replacements available. It would be hubris to think we were the exceptional pair that could beat the odds and make it work. We owed our crew better than that.

I don’t cry. I can count on one hand the number of times I have actually wept. This was one of them. Quietly, this time, and not for long, but with as much pain as before. Then I began the business of packing.

By the time he returned from the woods I was back in uniform, my hair up, and had several crates ready for transport. We didn’t discuss it at all, just went about crating things up as if we had planned it all along. We worked until well after dark, then ate a quiet meal. While he cleared the table, I wandered outside and looked up. In a few minutes he joined me.

We spent our last night on New Earth as we had spent so many nights, lying on the ground looking up at the stars. We held each other, as much for comfort as for intimacy. The night was clear, and all our constellations were vivid in the sky. There was a lot of silence between us that night, and when we did speak, it was of the mundane. Should we leave the tomatoes or try to transplant them or just uproot them? The grains we were trying to cultivate, would they grow in airponics? Then we would taper off to silence again, listening to the sound of the breeze and each other’s breathing.

It was after one of these silences that he turned his head, and I followed his gaze. He was looking at the Rose. "There’s another stanza," he said quietly.

"And fare thee well, my only love,  
And fare thee well – a while –  
For I will come again, my love,  
Though it were ten thousand mile."

After that, we said nothing until dawn, when Voyager arrived.

-end of part 1-


	2. A Red, Red Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after Janeway and Chakotay returned from New Earth, things had changed. What did that time mean then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set late in season 5, before Equinox 1

Captain’s Personal Log. It’s one of those nights, when sleep is not an option. Most nights, especially this past year, there’s no particular reason for insomnia, but tonight I know exactly what is keeping me awake. Today is an anniversary of sorts. Three years ago today, Voyager returned to New Earth to retrieve Chakotay and me from involuntary exile. Three years. We’re a long way from where we were then, in every possible sense.

When we first returned to Voyager, I think I harbored the hope that Chakotay and I might be the lucky ones to beat the odds and make a relationship between a captain and first officer work. I know better now. We don’t disagree with one another well, and we owe the crew more than leaders who can’t separate personal hurt from professional judgment. Maybe if we cared less about each other or the ship we could manage it, but…well, we’re only human, and the pressures on us in the Delta quadrant are too great.

But we have stayed friends. And over time, everyone has seemed to forget that there was even a possibility that we could have been anything more. Sometimes even me.

Still, there are times, in the dark of night when I cannot sleep, I daydream about a future in which we make it back to the Alpha quadrant and live happily ever after. If we make it back, if neither of us in involved with someone else, if we both still feel the same…who knows whether it can happen. But that’s the whole point of dreams, isn’t it?

Personal Log, supplemental. After my last entry, I went to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. It was almost deserted except for Chakotay. Our eyes met, and I felt certain that he was unable to sleep for the same reason as I. Why I should be so certain, I can’t say. We have not marked this occasion before, being busy with Borg and aliens and the like. And this year has been especially difficult; I think the reality of how long it is going to take to get home hit many of us. In some ways, he and I seem further apart than we were before New Earth. Maybe that’s why this anniversary feels so bittersweet.

I took my mug and went over to his table. He watched me as I sat, and it seemed to me that we both knew why we were there, and yet to speak of it would be somehow inappropriate. "So," I said awkwardly. Then it came to me. Same poet, different poem. "Here’s a hand, my trusty friend – and give a hand of thine."

He took my extended my hand and clasped it tightly. His expression was quizzical. "For Auld Lang Syne?"

"Not so very old long since," I said. We sat for a moment, uncomfortably aware of the few other people in the room and the sudden silence that had fallen. Perhaps no one was eavesdropping, but we couldn’t take the chance. After a moment, he said in a casual tone, "I was wondering if you were still up. I’ve been debating whether it was too late to stop by." He reached behind his chair and came up with a single tea rose from Kes’s garden and laid it on the table in front of me. A red rose.

He has not given me a red rose since we came back to the ship. As I looked at it, I thought again of our last night on New Earth, of the words he recited. I will come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile.

For just an instant, I thought he had said the words out loud, and I looked up, startled. He had not spoken, of course, but I saw the same warmth in his eyes that had been there then, and he smiled. "Good night, Captain."

I watched him leave by the starboard door. Neelix hurried over, to see if I wanted anything else. "No, thank you." I picked up the rose, started to leave.

"That’s very nice," Neelix said. "Was there an occasion I missed?"

"No." I looked at the rose. Its outer petals were already starting to droop; it needed water. "No occasion. Good night, Neelix." I left by the port door.

-end of part 2-


	3. I Will Come Again, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from "Endgame."

As far as Chakotay was concerned, having two Kathryn Janeways on board threatened to overload his senses. The time-traveling Admiral Janeway had been thoroughly probed and scanned by the Doctor to establish that she was who she claimed, but Chakotay had known it the instant they were in the same room. No one but Kathryn ever made him feel quite that way, as if the air itself were alive around them.

That feeling had become so much a part of his routine that he had stopped noticing, until just a couple of weeks earlier, when Kathryn had been taken hostage and the Doctor impersonated her. After avoiding him for several hours, the Doctor finally had to meet with him alone. He had known immediately that something was wrong but it took a few seconds to realize what it was. Then it hit him: everything was flat. His Kathryn receptors were absolutely still. He had forgotten about that unique reaction until he missed it.

But when Admiral Janeway had come on board, he had felt it at once. When the Admiral and the Captain were in the same room together, the sensation intensified. It was ironic, he thought, that just as he was willing to let go of his hopes for a relationship with Kathryn a series of unlikely events should remind him so vividly of why he had held those hopes for so long.

Then Kathryn asked him to join her at dinner with Admiral Janeway. "I know it sounds odd," she confided, "but I'm not completely comfortable with her. It's like being with my mother, only she knows all my secrets."

He was about to decline, thinking that dealing with two Janeways was beyond the capability of any mere mortal when her words struck a chord. For the first time, he realized that the Admiral possessed all of Kathryn's foibles and all of Kathryn's memories. All of them, and years more. He wondered briefly how much she actually knew. His relationship with Seven was still very new and they had agreed to keep it to themselves for the time being. Somehow they had managed to keep the secret, and he was certain Kathryn didn't know yet. He didn't want to tell her until he knew whether it would work out or not. But what did the Admiral know?

In the end he agreed, as much out of curiosity as to help Kathryn. She really did look unhappy about the entire situation.

The dinner started tensely. As Kathryn programmed the replicator, the Admiral went to the drawer where she kept the linens and flatware and began to set the table. "You need to reduce the cooking time by six percent," the Admiral said, laying the forks in place.

Kathryn stiffened. "I just calibrated this replicator."

"I know. And it's perfectly calibrated. It's just vindictive. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience."

From the way Kathryn frowned, Chakotay knew she wasn't going to make the adjustment. And from the way the Admiral smiled, she knew it, too. Then she looked up and caught him studying her. He half-expected to be on the receiving end of the Death Glare, but instead she just cocked one eyebrow at him. It was a conspiratorial gesture that seemed to say they were both in on a secret.

He liked her, he realized. He liked her quite a bit.

Dinner was late and overcooked. No one said anything about it. Instead, they talked about the past. They talked about the Vidiians and the Kazon and the Hirogen. They talked about Starling and Dala and Arachnia. Then the Admiral mentioned Kashyk.

"He was incredibly sexy," she said. Kathryn nearly choked on her after-dinner coffee, and Chakotay might have as well, if he'd been drinking at that moment. "Wha-what?" Kathryn gasped.

"He was incredibly sexy," the Admiral repeated. "Don't be coy, Captain. We both know that. He was also incredibly dangerous." Her expression changed. "You know, that was probably part of why he was so attractive."

"Too dangerous," Kathryn said primly. Her eyes were flashing a message that Chakotay couldn't read and the Admiral was ignoring. "I would never have risked the ship that way."

"I know. There were so many risks you couldn't take." The Admiral sighed. "Could I have some more tea, please?"

Kathryn nodded, looking relieved that the conversation had turned. Taking the Admiral's cup, she went over to the replicator. As soon as she was out of earshot, the Admiral leaned close to Chakotay. "You've been awfully quiet tonight."

He smiled. "The two of you are doing fine without my help."

An odd look passed across her face. "So. How's your love life?"

A sliver of panic sliced through him, and instinctively he looked across the room to be certain Kathryn wasn't listening. "I, um,… "

She chuckled. "Don't worry. She doesn't know yet. I haven't told her about you and Seven."

He stared at her mutely, uncertain of what to say.

"Are you happy?"

He glanced again at Kathryn, then looked back to the Admiral. There was no pain in her expression, only interest. It gave him the confidence to say, "Yes. I think I so."

She smiled. "That's all right, then. Don't be afraid to tell her." She rolled her eyes back towards Kathryn, who was speaking in low tones to the recalcitrant replicator. "She really does care, you know. She wants you to be happy."

Before he could answer, Kathryn exclaimed "Ha!" and they both looked at her. She faced them triumphantly, brandishing a delicate tea pot. "It's just a matter of explaining things to it very carefully."  
***

Sometime later, Kathryn yawned in the middle of a sentence. "Sorry," she said, but then another yawn caught her.

The Admiral rose. "It has been a long day, hasn't it? I should turn in. Thank you for dinner, Captain."

Even after an enjoyable meal and easy conversation, they were still very formal with one another. Kathryn, Chakotay could tell, was not comfortable in the least with this specter of her future self, and while the Admiral did not seem uncomfortable, she did seem bemused, as if she didn't quite know what to make of Kathryn.

For some reason, the difference between the two women had never been as clear to him as they were at that moment, and yet he could not define it except that it had nothing to do with age. He had never thought of Kathryn as soft but somehow, in contrast to the Admiral, she seemed ... not weak; just less driven, less determined.

He blinked at the thought. Over the past seven years, he had watched Kathryn become more and more driven, more consumed with the need to get the ship home, and he had mourned all the pieces of herself she had set aside in the name of that quest. Was the Admiral the end result of that gradual transformation? Would sixteen more years in the quadrant reduce her to an emotional monotone?

And if that was true, what had happened to her once they were home and her quest was fulfilled? How empty she must have felt, to find that her life's ambition was fulfilled and she had reserved nothing else for herself, no other dreams, no other goals. She would have carried on, of course; Kathryn could always carry on. But he wondered if she had been happy. From the way the Admiral looked at the Captain, he guessed that she had not.

A light touch on his arm broke into his thoughts. "Would you mind walking me to my quarters?" the Admiral asked him.

"You need a guide?" Kathryn asked, her mouth quirking.

"No. But I would like to talk with an old friend a little longer."

Chakotay smiled. "I'd be delighted."

"Good night, then. See you bright and early."

Chakotay let the Admiral step through the door first, then followed her into the corridor. "What's it like?" he asked.

"What?"

"Talking to your younger self. It must be strange."

Her eyes seemed to focus on something far away. "Strange. Yes, it is that. There are some things I remember so vividly and others…" She let the thought die. "You know, you never did show me how to sand paint."

Startled, he looked at her. "I thought you - she - you had forgotten about that."

"No." Her mouth curved slightly. "I was always a little afraid to bring it up. Thought it might stir up old memories."

He knew what she meant. It was a promise he had made on New Earth, when they thought they were marooned forever. Once they returned to Voyager, she had never brought it up again. Just mentioning it now made him remember that evening, so many years ago. He was applying the fixative to the final design when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "That's really beautiful," she had said quietly. "Do you think I could learn to do that?"

"I'll teach you," he had promised, and the vision of it had spread before his eyes. He could see them, as clearly as if he were watching a holovid, shoulders touching, leaning close, choosing colors together, his hand guiding hers. But it all remained in his imagination. They were rescued before any of it happened. He had thought about it over the years, but never offered again for fear that she would cut him off. She had done that with increasing frequency over the years, whenever she thought he was leading to something sentimental between them until finally he became resigned to her refusals.

"Do you want to learn?" he asked her now.

"It's on my list of regrets," she admitted.

He looked at her curiously. "You have a list? Is it long?"

Her smile was bittersweet. "Oh, Chakotay. My list of regrets could stretch from here to Earth. A few of them will be erased by this mission." She stopped, and he realized they were at her quarters. "Come in for a moment, will you? There's something I need your help with."

She immediately headed for a chair and sat down. "This is a little embarrassing, but I need help getting my boots off. My foot has cramped up and it's going to take some tugging. I'm not as limber as I used to be."

"Perhaps you should see the Doctor."

A hand waved dismissively, a gesture he recognized. "I don't need him clucking over me and telling me that I'm getting old. I know that already. Please?"

He knelt down in front of her and pulled on the first boot. She was right about the difficulty; he had to pull with some force to get it off. Concerned, he removed the sock that covered it and examined her foot closely. A thick scar snaked from the ankle across the arch to the large toe, red and angry. The toes were splayed and rigid, and the skin across arch was taut. Without thinking twice, he began to massage it.

She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"How did you get the scar?"

"An away mission that developed a few problems." She opened her eyes and looked at it contemplatively. "I kept it as a reminder."

Her eyes closed again, and she leaned her head back against the chair. She looked sad, he thought. Sad and forlorn.

"Is the future so very bad?" he asked.

"Not all of it." She straightened and smiled. "Tom and B'Elanna had a long time to build the foundation of their marriage. It survived a lot of stress when we got back. Miral had a chance to grow up cherished by the crew. She never knew the kind of ridicule her mother experienced growing up. She turned into a remarkable young woman. Harry got his own command. Others were happy."

"But not you."

Her smile faded and she pulled her foot free and set in on the deck. "That's much better. Thank you."

"Let's see the other one." He pulled that boot and sock off and saw that it, too, was cramping and began to rub it. "Why are you here, Admiral?"

Her eyebrows arched. "Are you asking me to break the Temporal Prime Directive?"

"Seems to me you've smashed it beyond repair just by coming here. Why? I don't believe that you're doing this just to tidy up the loose ends in your life."

"You don't think I'd do anything to save the lives of my crew?"

He leaned back on his heels. "That's right. I _don't_ think you'd do anything. You'd do everything in your power that was ethical to get us home, but if you thought the cause was sufficient, you'd sacrifice the ship rather than compromise an important principle."

"You think so."

"I know so."

She leaned forward. "Even if I tell you which people will die, and how, and when? And which people will live, but wish they had died?"

Her voice was thick with implications. Without actually saying so, he knew that he was one of those people: dead or wishing for death. It unnerved him for a moment, but then he said, "We take risks. We know the possibilities. So no, I don't believe you would change history just to save a few of this crew."

To his surprise, she laid her hand against his face. "You always knew me better than I knew myself. You're right. I grieve every day for things that happened in this Quadrant, but that is not why I came back."

"Why, then?"

She took a short breath. "In order to get home, we had to annihilate the Borg and I mean annihilate. Future generations may call it genocide, and they may be right." Her mouth flattened and her voice became taut. "We - Starfleet as well as I - hadn't anticipated that the threat of the Borg was all that was holding back Species 8472. It took them a while, almost six years, to realize the Borg were truly gone, and that the galaxy's supply of nanoprobes was gone with them. Once they figured it out, they left Fluidic Space with a vengeance. They began in the Delta Quadrant. At the time I left, our best estimate was that they had wiped out every species between Talax and Fen Shadar in four years. For a while it looked as if the Hirogen might stop them; they held out for nearly a year before succumbing."

Chakotay suddenly felt cold. "Good god."

The Admiral smiled bitterly. "God has little to do with it. Even though they could emerge from fluidic space anywhere, they appeared to be coming systematically. They were following _Voyager's_ exact route, beginning with the Ocampa homeworld. Current estimates, or rather, estimates when I left, were that they would reach the Alpha quadrant in another year. In my time, it's unlikely that any other species will be able to stop them. And without nanoprobes, we had no defense. It would be a war to save the existence of our species, and we would lose.

"That's why I've come back. If Voyager makes it home now, the Borg will survive. And believe me, if we have to fight the Borg or Species 8472, we want to fight the Borg."

It took a moment for her words to sink in and have actual meaning. They had always perceived the Borg as their greatest enemy, but without nanoprobes they would have no defense against Species 8472. They would lose, and lose quickly. But something wasn't adding up. "But your plan - won't it result in the destruction of the Borg?"

She shook her head. "No. At most it will cripple them. There are five other transwarp hubs and as for the Queen - you don't understand yet how resilient the Collective is. Right now, there are probably half a dozen potential Queens in protected larval states. If we do get lucky and eliminate this one, another will rise and regroup within months. A year at most."

"Then how did you ever manage to eradicate them all?"

Her eyes seemed to fix on something very far away. "Please don't ask me that."

The expression was familiar, a haunted look of guilt and responsibility that he had seen many times in the past, only this time it was worse, it was intensified. He closed his hand over hers reassuringly. "I won't. But I've got no doubt that you only did what was necessary."

"Yes." She spoke in barely more than a whisper, and he wondered what horrors had forced her to a course of action she now labeled genocide. Knowing Kathryn, he thought that the guilt must weigh on her heavily. Where was he, in her time, he wondered. Was he there to help her share this burden?

He sucked in a breath. "Have you told the Captain?"

"No. And I'm asking that you don't tell her, either. At least not until Voyager is back."

"Why? She needs to understand this."

The Admiral smiled ruefully. "You don't understand how much she hates the Borg Queen. Even for me, knowing what I know, that hatred is warm and fresh. If I tell her she's going to annihilate the Borg, she's perfectly capable of deciding that is the best thing that she could do for Earth. She'll gamble that she could bargain with Species 8472."

He considered this. She could be right. Kathryn's relationship with the Borg Queen was something he didn't fully fathom but he knew it was deep and complex. "What will you tell her?"

"Something that will hit her where she lives."

He was going to ask for more detail, but decided against it. That was as much about the future as he needed to know. He let go of her and started to rise, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," she said, and then surprised him by leaning forward and kissing him. It was tender and somehow poignant. When she pulled away she was smiling, and her expression was softer than he had yet seen. "Thank you. I always wanted to do that again. Another regret erased."

"Kathryn-"

She covered his lips with two fingers. "No. I'm not your Kathryn. She's down the corridor, and she needs you more than she cares to admit. Promise me, that no matter what happens, you will always be her friend."

"Of course."

Her mouth curved slightly. "By the time you're my age, you'll realize that nothing is a matter of course."

"We are." When she caught her breath slightly, he felt bold enough to ask, "What would happen if we did make it home tomorrow? Would Kathryn feel free to be with me?"

The Admiral smiled. "If we make it home tomorrow, it will be new territory. I don't know what will happen."

"I'm not asking you to predict the future. I'm asking you what you felt." His hands gripped her knees. "Please. It's important."

"I know." Her eyes misted with unshed tears, and he felt his heart lurch. He had not seen Kathryn close to crying in a very long time. "But I don't know what to tell you. It depends on what happens to her when she gets back. She won't drag you into any of her own troubles."

"Not good enough." This was suddenly more important than he meant it to be; he needed an answer. The clasp of his hand over hers tightened to a grip. "What does she want?"

The Admiral looked away. Twice her mouth moved as if she were going to speak and twice it closed. Finally, keeping her eyes averted, she said, "And I will come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile."

It was too much. He fell forward, his head resting on her knees. Those words were exactly what he had said to her on New Earth, so many years ago and so far away. He thought she had forgotten them, or worse, chosen to pretend she had forgotten. He thought it no longer mattered to her. He didn't know whether to be angry with her for years of silence or simply sad.

Her hand stroked his head once, a second time. "I'm sorry," she said. "Believe it or not, I always thought you knew. I figured it out only after it was too late."

He straightened up. "But it's not too late now, is it?"

"Only you know that, I think. Oh, Chakotay, I don't know if we'd have worked together. I just know I wish we could have had the chance to find out."

"Chance." He shook his head. "How many chances do people get in life?"

"I think," she said softly, "that you may get at least one more." He caught her meaning and smiled, and she returned it. "Now go and get some sleep. You've cheered an old lady considerably."

He stood and looked down at her. Yes, her hair was silver and waist a bit thicker, but her skin was smooth and glowing and her eyes were bright and alive. She would always be the one, he thought. Whatever he might feel for Seven or any other woman, Kathryn Janeway would always be the one, the standard by which the others were measured. The one who would always hold a piece of his soul. "You'll never be old, Kathryn. Never."

He was smiling as he left. Whatever happened tomorrow, the future was full of possibilities. It was up to him to shape them.

-the end-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final note: You will not be surprised to learn that I found the series finale, “Endgame,” to be hugely disappointing. It wasn’t just the C/7; I hated the selfish, lonely and unprincipled Janeway. Again, this was an attempt to remain within canon but still reflect my belief that J/C should have happened, and that Admiral Janeway had better reasons for breaking the temporal directive than stated in the episode. Big thanks to Shayenne for her suggestions and monkee, who came up with an idea I couldn't forget.]

**Author's Note:**

> This story continues in the separate sequel, "While the Sands O' Life Shall Run."


End file.
